I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Happiness. I remember what you’re like. Fleeting and Lovely. Why can’t you stay? Stop! Forget! Sleep! Morning will bring you back to me! Fantasy must come, soon, or I won’t make it! Find her. There, detached.

Reality -> Oh, how wretched we be

Madness -> Oh, how good we look today

-> Normal will never be there for me when it’s offered, I will refuse

I get this sense that I really wanted to write something deep and profound, but being such a shy nerd (yet thinking myself too cool to write about comic books or Dungeons & Dragons) I had nothing to write about. So I just kept pontificating on what a tortured soul I was. I used to think this journal was a good outlet, but now I’m starting to think that it just gave me a daily opportunity to dwell. At least it’s giving me a good laugh now.